


I Want A Boy Who Thinks It’s Sexy When My Lipstick Bleeds

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coping Mechanisms, Crossdressing, Dresses, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Internal Monologue, M/M, Pet Names, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, healthy communication is my kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 10:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Peter B likes to wear dresses when he’s stressed out. At first he’s embarrassed about it, and then... he’s not.





	I Want A Boy Who Thinks It’s Sexy When My Lipstick Bleeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nerdist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdist/gifts).



> This is a ~~late~~ birthday present for my amazing wonderful friend Nerdist!!! I hope you enjoy!!! 
> 
> Title comes from the song _I Wanna Boi_ By PWR BTTM.

“What’s new, Peter-Man?”

Sometimes, Peter regrets giving Wade a key to his apartment. (Most of the time, Peter doesn’t. Most of the time, he’s too busy appreciating the way Wade looks when he sneaks up on him in the shower and surprises him with a blowjob to regret anything that could have possibly led him to that particular moment.)

But there are _times_ when Peter can’t believe he was ever insane enough to offer Wade _fucking_ Wilson a key to his apartment and free-access-anytime.

“ _Fuck,”_ Peter curses, barely resisting the urge to dive behind the sofa. It’s not like it would help anything, anyways, and he somehow doubts that his bare ass showing from underneath the skirt of the dress he’s got on is likely to help him regain any dignity. As it is, he merely shoots Wade a glare _—god, fuck, please let me look menacing with makeup on my face—_ and draws himself up to his full height.

Wade doesn’t look fazed. If anything, his gaze is roaming Peter’s body _appreciatively,_ eyes lingering on his face, his crotch, his chest.

Peter wants to _die._

“I didn’t know you did drag,” Wade says conversationally, finally shutting the front door and making a beeline for the fridge.

“I don’t!” Peter desperately wills the earth to swallow him whole, wills some villain, somewhere, to open another portal to another dimension so that he can get sucked _anywhere but here_ so he doesn’t have to have this conversation.

Wade opens the fridge, rummages around for a moment, and comes back out with a slice of cold pizza. He takes a bite, turning to lean on the counter and peer at Peter speculatively.

“Okay,” he says simply, and then _pauses,_ like he’s waiting for Peter to explain.

If Peter’s cheeks weren’t bright red when Wade had first walked in, they’re definitely on fire now.

“We’re not doing this,” he says roughly, and turns away. He needs to get this shit off, _now,_ and then he needs to figure out a way to wipe Wade’s memory so neither of them ever have to think about it again.

Wade’s hand is on his arm so fast, Peter doesn’t have time to process his movement. “Ho, hey, wait, hold on.”

Peter knows he’s shaking, knows that Wade can probably feel it, because Wade’s grip loosens carefully, giving him an escape. _If you really want to ignore this, then I will._

Peter considers breaking from Wade’s touch and slamming the door to his room in his face, and then ultimately bows his head and stays right where he’s standing.

“Look, I know I’m not always the most comforting shit-stick on the block,” Wade says quietly. He hasn’t moved, which Peter appreciates, because he feels a little bit like the world is crashing down around him and if Wade moves, Peter will fall right down with it. “But there _are_ some things that are sacred, Pete. If it bothers you, we won’t talk about this. If you want to, we _can_ talk about this. I betcha right now that I’ll understand more than you think I will.”

Peter jerks his arm a little, surprised, but he doesn’t quite pull out of Wade’s grip. He’s always surprised when Wade gets like this, because… fuck. Sometimes, he forgets. He forgets that Wade is fucked up too, because Wade is so good at pretending to be less fucked up.

No, that’s not it. Wade is just good at playing off the fucked-up-ness as dry humour and annoying wit.

Peter isn’t like that. Peter pretends not to be fucked up, until he hits a day where he can’t pretend anymore and then he puts on a dress and stays holed up in his apartment and pretends his life isn’t as shitty as it sometimes feels.

Slowly, Peter faces Wade, letting himself take in the expression on his scarred features. And then he slides his arm out of Wade’s grip, only to grasp his hand firmly instead, lacing their fingers together as though it’s the only thing that can possibly keep him grounded. Wade tugs him towards the couch, and Peter lets him, settling nervously on the cushions with his hands self-consciously in his lap, pulling at the skirt.

“I, uh… Oh, god.” Peter cringes, staring down at the floor. “It sounds bad in my _head,_ Wade. I—“

“Breathe, Webs,” Wade suggests lightly, and Peter bites his lip stubbornly for a half-second before giving in and taking a deep breath. And remarkably… yeah, okay. He _does_ feel a little calmer.

“Sometimes, I wear women’s clothing when I have bad days,” Peter mumbles down to the floor. He waits for the inevitable, for Wade to laugh. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Wade —he _does,_ he trusts Wade with his _life,_ more than he trusts himself with it, sometimes— it’s just… It sounds stupid. Stupid and pathetic and—

“Okay,” Wade says simply. Peter jerks his head up, squinting suspiciously, but there’s no trace of amusement on Wade’s normally-jovial face. He looks dead serious, and Peter… doesn’t know how to handle that. He looks back down again.

“Is it?”

Wade squeezes his hand. “Baby boy, I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit to cope with bad days. Putting on a dress and making up your face is pretty fucking tame.” Wade leans forward, until his neck is craned at what looks to be a really shitty angle, so that his face is directly in front of Peter’s. “I love you,” he says, and it’s so plain and easy and simple, just like the first time Wade said it, and just like every time after. “If you wanted to wear a dress for the rest of your life and be called Sally, I would still love you. If you just like to feel pretty sometimes, I still love you.” He brushes a kiss over the tip of Peter’s nose, soft and silly and _real._ “Surprise.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes out, and Wade smiles at him with that warmth Peter can’t escape, and he feels… pretty fucking stupid, actually, for letting himself think that Wade would have a problem with this.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Wade announces, like it’s something he needs to announce, and Peter has enough strength of will to roll his eyes and nibble on Wade’s lower lip affectionately when he makes good on his announcement.

Kissing turns, as it so often does, into a heavy petting session within a matter of minutes. Peter pulls Wade onto his lap, and Wade melts into him, arms wrapping around him tightly and fingers digging into his back.

“Fuck,” Wade breathes out into Peter’s ear, and Peter shivers. Wade laps at his earlobe like a kitten before biting down just hard enough to pull a groan from Peter’s lips. “You wanna know somethin’, baby boy?”

“Yeah?” Peter’s voice is quiet and breathy. His eyes flick a little under closed eyelids, but he doesn’t open them, because right now he can feel Wade’s dick through the jeans he’s wearing and the dress that Peter’s commando in. And _fuck_ , Peter’s never thought about fucking when he’s dressed like this, but now that the thought’s hit him, it absolutely refuses to go away.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” Wade murmurs. He drops one of his hands down, sliding it along Peter’s thigh, slipping under the skirt, and Peter’s breath hitches because _oh, fuck._

When he lets his eyes flutter open, the first thing that Peter’s attention is dragged to is the smear of lipstick on Wade’s… everywhere. Against his lips, down his neck, across his jawline. Anywhere Peter’s lips hit, there’s a mark, in bright red lipstick. Peter can only imagine how his own face looks.

“You’re covered in lipstick,” Peter informs him with a soft laugh. It cuts off abruptly when Wade’s hand finds his dick and wraps around it.

Wade hums softly, smirking. “Good,” he replies, and then leans down to kiss Peter senseless. He starts to move his hand and Peter arches up into him; he can feel the material of his dress protesting against the sudden movement, but he doesn’t give one shit. The sight of Wade’s hand moving against the dress, hitching the skirt up further… It takes his fucking breath away and he _keens,_ and Wade swallows the sound down without missing a beat.

“Didn’t know you— had a thing for this,” Peter pants when Wade moves to kiss down his neck. He tilts his head back, eyes falling closed again, and feels Wade give a breathless laugh against his neck.

“Honestly?” Wade murmurs before interrupting himself to suck a hickey into Peter’s skin. The sensation makes Peter buck his hips, rutting into the rough palm around his cock. “I had no idea until I walked in and saw you looking like some kind of fucking model just _begging_ to be touched.” Wade kinda growls that last bit, and Peter shudders, desperately finding Wade’s lips with his own. Their teeth clack before they can slot together properly, but Peter doesn’t care, because Wade is tugging at his cock and twisting his hand just the way Peter likes it and Peter can feel the dress wrinkling underneath him and taste his own lipstick on his tongue and it’s messy and _perfect_ and—

_“Fuckfuckfuck—“_

Peter comes _hard,_ stars dancing over blacked-out vision as Wade milks him through it. The kiss shifts from desperate to languid, with Peter humming softly when the stars finally dissipate behind his eyes.

“You should fuck me,” Peter murmurs casually, a small smile playing across his lips. He can _feel_ Wade’s dick jump against the jeans he’s still inexplicably wearing, and it makes him laugh breathlessly. Wade makes an obscene moaning sound and palms himself.

Peter nudges at Wade a little, trying without really trying to push him off his lap. “We should move this to bed,” he adds, though there’s a part of him that protests the thought of moving at all.

“Ooh, you gonna pull out the candles and flowers, next?” Wade teases. He rolls off of Peter, looks down at himself, and then meets Peter’s eyes with a wolfish grin. “I’m gonna need to do some laundry before I leave.”

Peter follows his gaze down, cringing at the sight of his own come splattered up and down the front of Wade’s sweatshirt.

“Nasty,” he mutters, stretching. He feels his spine pop in compliance in two places before he gets enough energy to stand. He glances at Wade, ready to make another comment about the sweatshirt, only to find him watching with his lips parted slightly, gaze drawn down to the rucked-up skirt. Their eyes meet again before Peter slowly, deliberately pulls the skirt down over his crotch, and Wade makes a whining noise and grabs his arm, pulling him bodily into the adjoining bedroom.

“Like what you see?” Peter asks with a quiet laugh. He’s embarrassed, still, just a little —he knows his face has probably gone red again. But it’s hard to remember his embarrassment with Wade staring at him like he’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” is Wade’s reply. He pushes Peter unceremoniously down onto the bed, who allows himself to fall, still grinning. There’s a self-conscious edge to his smile that he can’t quite banish, but he doesn’t have time to think about it too much because Wade is shedding his sweatshirt —he’s not even wearing a shirt underneath, what the _fuck,_ Wade— and jeans —he’s not wearing underwear, either, which surprises Peter a lot less than the shirt thing does— and tossing them aside to clamber onto the bed, on top of Peter.

“Hey there,” Peter murmurs, and Wade smirks.

“Hello yourself, baby boy,” he murmurs back. When Wade kisses him, it starts out soft. It starts out as a _reassurance,_ that Wade still loves him, that he’s still there, that this is really happening. There’s no doubt in Peter’s mind that Wade noticed his nerves returning.

When Peter grabs Wade’s ass and tugs him down so that their hips slot together, though, Wade groans against his lips and kisses him more firmly, and Peter revels in the feeling.

“So fuckin’ hot, Webs, you have no fucking idea,” Wade mutters almost-incoherently against his lips. Peter can feel his own dick twitching interestedly again as Wade grinds down against him, the cloth of the dress just rough enough to remind him of the only thing separating them.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” is Peter’s reply, grinning when Wade pulls back to make a face at him.

Without warning, Wade rolls off of him and reaches for the lube Peter doesn’t bother to keep in a drawer anymore. “I’m getting there, sweet cheeks.” Peter only grins and spreads his legs, letting the dress fall down to rest against his chest, revealing his entire lower body to Wade.

Wade makes an appreciative humming noise and uncaps the lube before running one hand slowly up Peter’s torso. “ _Fuck,”_ he murmurs. “How’d I get so fucking lucky, Pete?” he asks. Peter feels himself flush, all the way down to the chest that Wade is currently brushing with his fingertips.

And then Wade has two fingers, cold with lube, pressing into his ass and Peter gives a shout of surprise. Wade holds him firm, so all Peter can do is glare at Wade as he starts to laugh.

“Sorry, baby boy, I couldn’t help myself.”

Peter sticks his tongue out childishly, so Wade leans over and sucks his tongue into his mouth. It’s ridiculous, _Wade_ is ridiculous, but there’s no more tension in Peter’s body as Wade sucks at his tongue and slowly presses his fingers into his ass.

They’re at this quite a bit; it doesn’t take long until Peter is rutting back against Wade’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. Wade finally pulls away from him, slithers down his body for a moment to press a kiss to the tip of his dick —Peter’s entire body _jolts—_ and gives himself a few earnest pulls with his lube-covered hand.

“You look so pretty,” Wade murmurs, and Peter doesn’t have time to think of a response because Wade is already pressing into him, sliding in, sliding _home,_ and Peter lets out a drawn-out moan and stops thinking at all.

Wade sets a fast pace. He knows what Peter likes, knows what he needs, and knows just how to fuck him right. The shitty bed frame squeaks with a vengeance with every thrust and Peter’s neighbours probably (read: definitely) know that he’s having sex right now but Peter doesn’t _fucking care._

Wade reaches down and wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and jerks him off in time with the way he’s pounding his own dick into Peter’s ass, and Peter comes nearly as hard as he had the first time. He feels Wade follow him off the edge, too, his come filling him as Wade continues to jerkily thrust through his orgasm until they both lose the ability to move altogether and collapse, sticky and sated.

Wade shifts after a minute, resting his forehead against Peter’s, and Peter smiles up at him softly, warmly.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey.” Wade nuzzles his nose affectionately against Peter’s. “I love you.”

Peter feels like he might cry, which is _stupid,_ even though he’s pretty sure Wade would hold him through it if the tears came. He takes a breath. “I love you, too,” he replies instead, voice gentle and intimate.

They stare at each other for a second, until Peter reaches up clumsily and cups Wade’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the makeup on his face. “You really do have lipstick everywhere.”

Wade hums, leaning into his hand. “Guess that just means we’ll have to shower, later,” he murmurs suggestively, and Peter laughs warmly and lets his eyes fall closed. Wade moves to tuck his face into Peter’s neck, and Peter wraps both arms around him tightly. They’ll need to get up and _clean up_ sooner or later, but for now, Peter is content.

Except…

“Wade, did you put a piece of pizza on the counter?” Peter asks, wrinkling his nose at the realisation. Wade begins to giggle against his skin, and he doesn’t answer, and Peter wants to be annoyed because _Jesus, Wade, that counter hasn’t been cleaned in months that’s so fucking nasty_ but the puffs of air against his neck tickle like a motherfucker and he can’t help laughing too, shaking his head a little before tightening his arms around Wade. He’ll make sure they don’t fall asleep like this, but… fuck. It’s _nice,_ and for now, that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans


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